CauldronBuster and NargleSeeker
by Alex the Anachronistic
Summary: Neville Longbottom gets bitten on the honker by a nargle. Luna Lovegood owns a boar named Bilbo. When will I stop? When JKR tells me to, that daft Gryffindor. Cute drabbles about a favorite fanon pairing, along with snippets of the Quibbler.
1. Chapter 1

_I'm not just kidding when I say that I'm not J.K._

Welcome to my series of Neville/Luna drabbles. I think they were sort of obligated, as characters, to have some sort of romantic interaction even if the almighty J.K. thinks that Luna belongs with Newt Scamander and Neville with Hannah Abbott. Hence this series of little romantic drabbles. To be updated randomly and sporadically as I come up with cute situations. Enjoy! --Alex

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

**Clap if You Believe in Nargles  
**

He looked at her, caution in his very eyes. She read in quiet, nibbling a hangnail, placid and oblivious. He wanted her, he loved her. She remained aloof, complacent, and unresponsive.

He had to let her know, he could not go on like this. She seemed pensive, perhaps amenable to change.

He was going to try.

"Luna?"

He grappled with the thick stem of the Grudgutt Lily, resident of the pot he cradled in an absentmindedly paternal manner. She was slow in raising her eyes off the page she was reading upside down. He was grateful for this, because it took him a few tedious seconds and an eighth of a teaspoon of sweat to break the stem of the flower. She only looked at him when, finally, she finished reading the page and poised her finger to turn it.

"What is it, Neville?"

He held out the flower, awkward, at arm's length.

She looked at it vaguely.

"Luna?" He gasped again, this time pressuring himself to say the words so much at the forefront of his mind. "I love you."

"I love you too, silly," she said, still examining the flower without extending her hand to embrace it. "Though, I must say, there's a nargle inside that flower. Grudgutt is their favorite to live in, didn't you know?"

"I never knew that," he replied, frustrated, not wanting to discuss nargles. "But what I mean is-"

"Sprout said so only last Monday; look for yourself and you'll see it."

He always liked to oblige her, so he did bring the flower up to his eye to squint at its petals.

Then the nargle bit him on the nose.

"Argh!" he exclaimed in pain, watching the angry nargle shake its tiny foot at him and bounce into another Grudgutt pot.

She shook her head. "Put some chamomile leaf on it, and the bite will disappear," she said, turning the page.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

_Review. It's what you do. _


	2. Chapter 2

_I'm not just kidding when I say that I'm not J.K._

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

**The Person You Marry  
**

Neville was in the middle of peacefully propounding upon the theories of herbologist J. P. Husker about the correlation of numerology, the cycles of the moon, and the progressively decreasing production of sugars in carnivorous plants. It was rather a dull subject for those who were uninterested in herbology, granted, but it was fascinating for those who were. The sunny October afternoon was nippy as the boy settled in the grass with a few biscuits in his pocket, but his thick Gryffindor scarf protected him against the worst gusts, and he genuinely felt at ease.

Ron and Harry entered the scene, in their usual bombastic and explosive way, causing heads to turn in both silent admiration and deep annoyance. The garden was a place for quiet reflection and solace, not jocular Quidditch players out for a good romp.

". . . but you got to admit, Harry, that pass was just a smashing riot, a real smashing riot!" exclaimed Ron, bitter at his friend's cheerful disagreement. "McLaggen couldn't have been more brilliant, and that's saying a lot, if you know what I mean."

"It was called foul," Harry replied almost absentmindedly, looking around him at myriad eyes and feeling the intense pain of attention.

"But it was brilliant, still," Ron insisted, then meandered over to the heavy-set boy curled up in the bay window with a book. "Hey, Neville, you were at the game yesterday. What did you think of it when McLaggen passed the bludger to Gale and Gale got the score?"

"Erm, I wasn't really at the game yesterday," Neville said, nervous. "I was reading this book." He put his thumb in the spine so he would not lose his place, and he showed them the title.

"_Chlorophyll in Carnivorous Plants and Other Speculations Regarding Them _by J. P. Husker?" read Ron with disgust. His eyebrows raised with mechanic precision, and he shook his head. "Pretty heady stuff you got there, Neville. What's it about?"

"Erm . . . well . . ." It was always so hard to summarize books when suddenly pulled out from their midst. "It's on herbology. It talks about how numbers and things can be used to predict how much the plants eat and how many carbohydrates they make. The moon is supposed to affect not only the tide, as everyone knows, but also the fluids inside the plant cells and so--"

"Hmph!" Ron exclaimed with disdain. "You would think, mate, that the only person who would be interested in learning about that would be Professor Sprout."

"Well, I find it interesting, I guess," Neville tried to explain, but was cut off by Ron's next rude comment.

"The only other person in the world of our age who would find _that _interesting, Neville, will be the person you marry!" the redhead declared with a brusque laugh. "Honestly, who gives a rip about a dirty old plant?"

"I do, to some degree," remarked a celestial voice from above them. Nestled in the branches of the ficus, Luna Lovegood sat, holding an old issue of The Quibbler turned upside-down in her traditional way. Without another word, she descended from the tree, careful not to let her skirt flounce as the wind's insistence demanded. Like Mary Poppins she landed, dropping her magazine and letting the breeze take custody of its pages. She instantly and unhesitatingly placed herself next to Neville at the base of the tree.

"We--my father and I--are doing an article for the December issue concerning grafting of magical plants and how it can negatively affect them, and there is a section on how the fluids of the plants will sometimes react very badly to each other, especially during the full or new moons."

Ron gave a guffaw that was barely stiffled by a cough.

"God bless you," Luna said placidly, not deigning to look up at him. At that moment Harry and Ron looked at each other the wrong way, only to burst into unrestrained laughter.

Neville did not even notice. He instead was focused on the beautiful white hand of his starlike nymph as she extended it to turn to the cover of his book, wondering what color ring would be best to adorn it--silver or gold?

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

Written in honor of my cousin Jill's wedding to my new cousin-in-law (and her husband) Chris. See you at Oma's for Thanksgiving, dude.

_Review. It's what you do. _


	3. Chapter 3

_I'm not just kidding when I say that I'm not J.K._

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

**A Real Nutter**

Xenophilius was in the habit of dropping by a little American Store when he was in London; he always got a box of Cheerios and something else unusual. This explanation did nothing to cheer Neville up, however, when he was presented with a Peanut-Butter and Currant Jelly Sandwich. Last week, the 'something else unusual' consisted of a jar of America's favorite condiment.

"I've had peanut sauce on chicken, when I went to _The Ivy_ with my grandmum before a show, and once I even had some peanut curry, but _peanut butter?_"

"They call them Goobers, in the States, if that makes it better," Luna added, pleasantly oblivious to Neville's cringe. She was pasting moving pictures onto a Quibbler spreadsheet, occasionally nibbling at the sandwich on her plate.

Neville just looked at the drippy, gooey stuff that oozed from between two slices of bread.

"My grandmum would never approve," he said, squinting at the sandwich.

All in all, the sandwich was of a superior quality. The bread was home-made and fresh, for it was sent over that morning by Mrs. Gibbles, the Lovegood's favorite neighbor. The black-currant jelly was sent by Xenophilius' favorite writer, who was down in Germany hunting down the facts on a certain Kaspar Haus. The sandwich in itself had been assembled by the loving, delicate, china-white hands of Luna. _If_, Neville considered, _that were it, I'd eat it all without a thought and ask for six more._

Of course, though, his fickle appetite left him when he mentally compared the peanut goo to his morning bowel-movement.

"Couldn't I have one without that stuff?" he queried.

"If you insist," Luna said, without a hint of malice or impatience, and pushed back her chair gingerly. "Bilbo! Here, boy!" she called, putting her hands to her mouth. "_COO-EE!"_

Responding to Neville's look of absolute shock, Luna smiled. "Oh, don't worry. Bilbo's very friendly."

"I'm not afraid of Bilbo," Neville said, thinking that he would never be afraid of anything that Luna befriended, "What was that shout?"

"Oh, when daddy and I went to visit Australia, that's how they got each other's attention--our friend, Sam Dailey, and daddy, I mean."

A grunting noise from behind Neville made him nearly leap from his chair.

"Bilbo! That's not very polite!"

Nonetheless, Luna stood up and began to coddle the long-tusked boar.

"That's right, Bilbo. I've got a sandwich for you."

She took plate from Neville and placed it on the floor. The slobby snout of the porcine monster sniffed at the desultory sandwich, and then began to burrow in it.

Hoping that such feedings were a rarity in the Lovegood establishment, and also wondering about the sanitizing measures taken to the dishes afterward, Neville just shook his head. Standing up to make himself a sandwich sans peanut butter, he reflected that he was not eager to up his intake of dried pig saliva anytime soon, plus there was foot-and-mouth disease (was that rampant in pigs?) to consider.

"He's quite a nutter," Luna said suddenly, and Neville spun around.

"Really?" he asked, not knowing if she was talking to the pig about him or if she was talking to him about the pig.

He ought not have worried, for Luna was looking at him. "Yes," she mused, "Yesterday he was out digging for chestnuts in the backyard."

"Did he find any?"

Luna shook her head. "No. Just this."

She walked over to the kitchen sink, went on her knees, and pulled out a box that used to hold soap. This she gave to Neville.

He opened it, and was surprised.

It was a little wooden picture frame, decorated in delicate dried leaves and flowers, containing a picture of himself and Luna, which had been taken at the beginning of the summer. They were sitting, just the two of them, by the stream near Luna's house. Neville could have sworn that there had been other people on either side of them when it had been taken, but there they were, solely the two of them.

That had been the day he asked her to be his girlfriend, and she had accepted, in that passive but endearing way of hers.

"This...is what Bilbo found?" he asked with a smile, though he should have known better. Luna nodded, steadfast in her little story, not betraying herself in the slightest facial expression.

"Isn't it curious?" she suggested.

"Very much so," Neville said, and he kissed her.

She tasted strange, like something salty and deliciously savory at the same time, and he realized that she had just been eating a peanut-butter sandwich.

He decided that, at least on Luna's lips, the stuff did not taste as bad as it looked.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

_Review. It's what you do. _


	4. Chapter 4

_I'm not just kidding when I say that I'm not J.K._

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

**Brave Smile**

Mr. Weasley had discovered the Muggle Movie very early in his career of tinkering with Muggle Stuff, but they had not interested him until Hermione and Ron watched _Jaws _together, and his son enthusiastically (but inaccurately) replicated the plot. Thus, his old discovery took on a new sheen, and he threw himself wholeheartedly into trying to fix the VCR he had found. Discreetly, there had been a box under the Christmas tree that year with _Happy Christmas, Arthur Weasley_ printed on it in Dumbledore-esque handwriting, and the present within had been nothing more than a DVD projector and a gift certificate to a movie store near the Ministry of Magic in London. Harry denied all claims that it was his idea, money, or talent put into the project.

Now, movie showings on Saturday Nights at The Burrow were the social hit of the season.

Neville and Luna always attended, of course, sitting somewhere in the obscure middle of the room, usually holding hands. They both paid scrupulous attention to the movie.

"I want to make a movie," Neville said listlessly one such evening as they left the 'theatre'.

Luna, as always, seemed rather surprised, but interested. "Do you suppose we could?"

Neville racked his brains, trying to find a reason not to, besides the fact that his imminent career in herbology was on the verge of blossoming.

"I don't have time right now," he said. "After all, it's so soon after the war. Everyone's still healing."

"Why not memorialize the healing?" Luna suggested.

Squinching his nose, Neville thought about it. Then, he audibly sighed, and he shook his head.

"No. I'm not creative. I wouldn't be any good at it."

She smiled, and Neville realized how brave a smile it was, and remembered why he loved her.

"My daddy has always said that one should keep an open mind."

...

Some time later that week, an owl delivered a package to Neville's home, and inside he found a video camera, along with a brief note:

_I just happened upon this, and thought you might be able to use it. In any case, I also sent you the January Quibbler, so if you would please look at the spreadsheet with your page and see if you like how the article is formatted, I'd like to know what you think of it. I will be sending our photographer over very soon to take your picture for the Author's headshot. Do you like the caption, 'Orange-Tinted Fireworms Threaten Unkempt Gardens'? And, do you know, my father has decided against getting another Porshriddle Skweizy anytime soon. Besides that, he wants you to continue your Herbology column as long as you can.  
_

_Love you an incredible lot._

_Luna  
_

Merlin, he loved her an incredible lot, too.

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

_Review. It's what you do. _


	5. Chapter 5

_Dearlingest darlingist readers:_

_I am trying to uproot my identity from this fanfiction account, for its soil has gone fetid. Suffice it to say that this blossoming dirigible-plant of a story is suffering in such a cluttered garden. Therefore, I am asking you, sweet fertilizing reviewers, to remove to my new to-be-consistently-updated continuation of this story located on the pristine acre of new inspiration. You can find it under the **Username**** Anachronistic Anglophile**, and the **User ID number 1996191**. The story will be called **Luville Lovebottom on Mondays.**_

_Please find me, add me to updates, etc., if only for the fact that I asked you so nicely. I know it's a bit of an inconvenience, but trust me, this little story can only become more beautiful when it's not hidden in the gloom of the monstrous things in this yard._

_Anyhow, I'll complete this series with a description of the movie, which was requested by **StudentofDust.**_

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

The film had to wait until after Luna graduated, because Neville could only see her on Hogsmeade weekends, and those were fewer and more far between than before the war. Death Eaters—those who were not at the final battle but were valiant enough to think that cooperating with the authorities was disgraceful—were out plotting various means of revenge. Though their numbers were limited, and though they had no natural leader to guide them, they had formed some kind of organized revenge team. Of course, Hogwarts was a prime target.

Luna's 7th year finally concluded, however, to both her and Neville's great delight, and they celebrated by having Neville move into his own flat, finally.

It was only then that they began to work on the project—sporadically at first, but with increasing passion as they got further imbued. Luna was the chief interviewer, since her objectiveness and kindly nature made her an easy person to talk to; Neville manned the camera.

The movie featured many people from many points of view, who had suffered a lot over the course of the war. George Weasley was the first one they interviewed. He talked about Fred in a stilted manner, trying to make jokes but not entirely succeeding, but he talked about how he intended to go on working with the Order of the Phoenix to round up rogue Death Eaters, and maybe re-start Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

Hermione was another one; she had been tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange and lived to tell about it, for one thing, but now her immune system was fragile and she kept getting colds. She had finished her education at Hogwarts, though, and now she was working on a fellowship as a trial lawyer.

Of course, Harry Potter could not be ignored. While plagued by the numbers lost in the Battle of Hogwarts, he got himself engaged to Ginny Weasley almost immediately after their victory, and he was excited to get over his past fame and glory, aiming to live a 'normal' life.

The work was done in late September, and they had a showing at the next Saturday Night at the Weasley's. It received tears and laughter alike, and Neville felt that people left the impromptu theatre feeling a little more joy and hope.

Luna agreed, and innocuously suggested that Neville would leave the theatre joyous enough to propose to someone.

He wondered later what she meant by _that._

. . . x . . . X . . . x . . .

_If you're sticking with me and transferring to see where the story progresses in Luville Lovebottom on Mondays, then see you there! The first chapter is already up. If you're not sticking with the program, then no hard feelings, and bon voyage!_

_Love,  
A.A._


End file.
